


willing and able (to make it so painful)

by Code16



Series: kings in my deck (willing and able verse) [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Forced to Watch, Gang Rape, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Punishment, Restraints, Tumblr Prompt, Work In Progress, dark!Fëanor, incest (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 14:34:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Code16/pseuds/Code16
Summary: 'Findekano does not struggle as the guards escort him down the palace hall. Not only because Turgon is there also, held by another guardBut also because Turgon is there.'Prompted: Feanor arranging for Fingon and Turgon to get gangraped.





	1. Arranging

**Author's Note:**

> [Prompted on tumblr](https://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com/post/187841697554/so-may-i-request-feanor-arranging-for-someone-to): "So may I request Feanor arranging for someone to get gangraped, like one of his nephews for instance? I have the idea of him orchestrating for Fingon or Turgon or both to be gangraped in my head now."

Findekano does not struggle as the guards escort him down the palace hall. Not only because Turgon is there also, held by another guard - having been caught attempting to leave the palace without permission, struggle would probably be worse than usual, and it is not as though it is usually productive. But also because Turgon is there. (He should have asked Turgon to wait until he had a better opening, a higher chance. 

But it’s too late for that now.)

At a fork in the hall, one guard begins to turn them along one path, but another walking ahead pauses him. “His Royal Highness wants to see them.” Turgon flinches. Findekano doesn’t feel too dissimilar. He’d been hoping, some, Feanor might be occupied enough to leave them to his sons. Caranthir is the one most likely up at this hour if anyone is; might have just had the guards whip them and been satisfied. Not that he enjoys handing his own belt to someone and stripping, but not enjoying what came next was as fully certain as anything gets once they were caught. And. If Feanor is awake and wants to see them, then this is going to be bad.

Feanor is awake, sits in his receiving room with his feet on some cushioned stool. They kneel while the guards bow (the guard with him shoves him, as though he needs the reminder.) The guards report. Feanor surveys them. Findekano is not sure if this would be more or less unpleasant if he had ever figured out how to read Feanor’s looks better.

“Anything to add?” Feanor asks. Looks at him. 

“No, your grace.” Anything he has to say, it wouldn’t be to the Prince.

“Turukano?”

“No, your grace.”

“And where exactly were you going with this excursion?” 

“Out to walk, your grace.” If Feanor doesn’t already know they wanted to talk to Findarato, he’s certainly not going to be the one to tell him. Turgon, fortunately, doesn’t react to this, just looks down at the floor. 

“Turukano?”

“To walk, your grace.”

“I see.

Lest he be tempted by your example, do let your father know that if he is caught at such a thing I will take him outside the walls myself and thrash him before whoever might be collected there. As a beginning.

As for you.” He pauses. Findekano tries not to let himself tense with the wait, not to grit his teeth at the mention of their father. He has no doubt Feanor can see  _ his _ face enough to see that, looking down as he might be. (Wonders if Feanor has their father in his bed. Will go back and  _ tell _ him of this.)

“As you have done the work of collecting them, you and your confrères may have them for use,” Feanor says to the guards. ”Bring them back to me when I send for breakfast.” Fingon knows what time it is now, without needing to try to see a window. Doesn’t know if Feanor will breakfast later because he’s awake now, but even if not morning is hours off.

He - did know it would be bad.

Turgon is trembling. Fingon almost considers trying to plead with Feanor - this was his idea, it would be just for a punishment not to hurt his brother the worse. But if Feanor is not in a mood to receive pleas - and it’s much more likely that he isn’t - that might just give the guards ideas. 

Feanor gestures a dismissal. The guards haul them up. (Turgon stumbles. Findekano fights off the urge to struggle his way to Turgon’s guard and kick him.) Bow again and take them from the room.


	2. Guards

There are rooms for this. Feanor might prefer to keep his personal bedwarmer in his personal chambers, but his sons don’t all share the opinion, and this isn’t the first time some punishment’s been sourced out to the guard. The guards open one.

“Strip.” He does. Turgon follows, slower at it but not disobeying. 

“Leave your shirt on,” one of the guards says to him. “He’s pretty that way,” he adds when the others look at him. Turgon flinches but obeys that as well. 

They pull up one of the table-shaped racks and tie him down to it - bent over, legs spread, head at a nice height for them. Turgon they don’t restrain that much, just leave him by a bench and run a chain to a cuff. Well. It’s not like any reputation for struggling he might have isn’t an earned one. No gag for him though, or at least not right away. Means they’ll probably expect more active participation from him, but at least he can sometimes rest his jaw in between.

The guards have some quieter interpersonal discussion, presumably about who gets what. Presumably figure it out. One of them pins Turgon down to the bench. Findekano’s busy enough trying to look at that in peripheral that he partially misses the one in front of him. That one doesn’t seem interested in the opportunities of the lack of a gag. Just slaps him to get him to open his mouth faster, then shoves himself down his throat. Another is behind him; spreads him with his hands and thrusts inside several moments later.

There exists the option of keeping oneself prepared when one can, lower the chances of this part being quite as physically unpleasant. Findekano doesn’t; would rather take the pain than think about himself as a sex toy all the time even when he doesn’t have to.

And now he takes it.

Having forced all the way inside, the one behind him leans on him and pauses for a moment, then begins to thrust. Alternates shallow thrusts with deeper ones, takes Findekano by the hips probably to aim better though he doesn’t seem to be aiming for anything in particular. The one in his mouth levels off and mostly lets him breathe, just the occasional thrust further in. (He considers taking the excuse of the one behind shoving deeper to bite down just slightly. Doesn’t do it. No one would buy his excuse (or care that much if they did, for that matter), and even if they wouldn’t do worse he doesn’t really want to spend several hours in a gag. And they would. And Turgon is in the room.)

“What do you think, on his face? All the way down?” the one using his mouth asks the other some minutes in. Isn’t quite as good as Feanor at talking while he’s fucking someone, but clear enough.

“Mmm, make him taste it.” The one behind him drives in hard again. The one in his mouth possibly thinks this is a turn-on because he pushes in one more time then takes the advice, withdrawing most of the way to come across Fingon’s tongue. Fingon swallows. 

He can’t see the door, but he thought he’d heard it at some point. Apparently was right, because when the one in front of him steps away, it’s a guard who hadn’t been there earlier who replaces him. This one does want him to make an effort. He does, though it gets harder to concentrate on when the one behind him picks up his pace, drives rapidly into him. The guard pulls out of his mouth and also slaps him. That turns out to be enough of a break for the one behind to come inside him, lean on him again before withdrawing. He too is replaced right away, but the new one starts slowly. The one trying to use his mouth pushes in again, and Fingon manages to bring him off before the new one’s done anything to distract him overmuch.

The next one at his mouth fucks his throat hard but finishes quickly, comes across his face. The one behind him is still at it. (Sometimes there’s a bit of time, after he’s been fucked open enough, before he’s sore enough he’ll flinch at a touch, when it mostly only  _ hurts  _ more if someone wants it to. At least looks like he’s getting some of the benefit of that, this time.)

When he has any chance to move his head himself, he tries to check on Turgon. (A guard is straddling the bench, Turgon’s head held between her legs. Another sits on the ground, holds Turgon in his lap, hips moving.) 

The next one at his mouth is half and half, wants his attention but not too much of it. Runs a hand through Fingon’s hair. Comes seconds before the one behind him finally does as well.

The next one is brutal. Bruising grip on his hips, feels like he’s trying to shove the rack across the floor. Fingon barely registers the slide of another cock into his mouth, the relatively gentle push against the back of his throat. Comes faster than the last one. Not by much.

The guards keep coming. Use his ass and mouth thoroughly, leave more bruises on his hips and thighs, come on his back, across his face again (he blinks it out of his eyes). A few times someone grabs a chair, tilts their hips up so he can get his tongue on their clit, inside of them. Someone threads fingers through his hair to get his head down, digs the heel of a boot into his back. (Turgon is on his knees, face almost flush against a guard’s parted trousers, another kneeling behind him and pounding in. Turgon is laid out on his bench, a guard straddling his head while another holds his legs spread and bent.)

After a while there’s a lull. Maybe they ran out of guards on shift to rotate in. It’s hard to rest in this position, but Fingon tries (if he gives it some effort, he can get a glimpse at one of the high windows. It isn’t over yet). (Turgon is on the ground by his bench, on the other side of it where Fingon can barely see. Doesn’t stop him from hearing the muffled sobs.)

Some of the guards take second turns with him, more languid. One comes using his ass, then walks around, pushes in. “Clean me off.” A few of the others like that idea, repeat it.

Some of the guards take third turns. Then - maybe a shift change, and it’s one after another again, two cocks filling him more often than not. Seem to only enjoy how their friends have left him sore and further sensitive. Opening his mouth, moving his tongue anything like what they want, is a painful effort. (He’s hearing the muffled sobs even when he can’t turn.) 

Another lull. A guard fucks his mouth almost gently. Turgon is in someone’s lap again. Fingon tries not to look as close to passing out to sleep in between their interest as he feels. And not to actually do it. He manages a look at the window again. Might be getting close now.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a [quote found on a search for 'deterrence' quotes](https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/martha_mcsally_932739?src=t_deterrence): "_The whole idea of deterrence is to convince your enemy that you are willing and able to make it so painful for them to continue on a threatening or bellicose course that they change their behavior. - Martha McSally_"
> 
> [My tumblr for these kinds of things](http://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com). I love fandom social things, and anyone who feels like they might want to message etc me for any reason is encouraged to totally do so.


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